


Quality of the Sheets

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Ending, F/M, Fluff, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The quality of the sheets doesn’t matter as much as it used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quality of the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msgenevieve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/gifts).



> Many thanks to Foxriverinmate for the beta.

The fabric is creased, moist from the heavy night air, and tangled around his legs. He twists it a bit more and revels in the sensation.

The quality of the sheets doesn’t matter as much as it used to – neither do the blankets nor the pillows for that matter, but that’s not the point right now. The point is, no more softer-than-silk Egyptian cotton sheets; not in abundant supply around here anyway.

“Showiest sheets ever, Mike,” Lincoln told him once years ago, back in Chicago, considering the most expensive bedding he’d ever seen and not impressed in the slightest. “And yet, you have nobody you love between them. Not to mention your fucking insomnia thing.” Always classy, and always straight to the point, his brother. Michael gave him a haughty, cold glance, but he didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

Sheets these days are ordinary white cotton. He’s never slept better; insomnia has gone with the pretentious Egyptian cotton.

Sara is warm and smooth between the plain sheets, still half asleep right next to him; tanned skin flushed from sleep and other night activities. She stretches out and mumbles about creepy people watching their spouse sleep, shifts on the mattress and snuggles up into him. The sheets are already rumpled, and she adds to their messiness when she pulls on them, wraps them around her, tugs them under her arms. It’s a valiant yet unsuccessful and unnecessary attempt to cover her breasts.

For a few seconds, he admires how the thin fabric is partly veiled around her hips and stomach, hugging succulent curves so tightly he envies it. When she blinks at him and asks, “What’s the matter?” with mischief crinkling her eyes, he yanks on the sheets with a careful roughness and dives for the crook of her neck. He licks and kisses and nips the delicate flesh until she gasps and holds him closer, urges his mouth lower and arches up. He nuzzles her breastbone. Just one of the many spots where her skin is softer than any absurd Egyptian cotton sheet. Just one of the many aspects of her that make things he used to value more than useless – superfluous.

-Fin-


End file.
